What He Looks Like
by Dragonfly-Moonlight
Summary: Raistlin Majere is cursed. Or so he believes until a mysterious new visitor arrives and says something very unusual . . . Not a yaoi story!


Disclaimer: I do not own Dragonlance or Star Ocean 3, and I do not profit from the writing of this story. The idea, though, is all mine. Mwahahahahaha

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Raistlin could not believe his eyes. The sight before him was, well, a sight truly to behold! He blinked once, twice, and yet again to be sure it was not a trick of his mind. When the sight remained, he could not help but wonder at the reasoning.

Before him stood a young man who was probably no more than nineteen years of age. Raistlin knew the man was definitely human. He stood too tall to be a dwarf, a gnome, or a kender, and his ears were too rounded for him to be an elf. However, it was not only the fact the strange man was a human that baffled the red-robed wizard. It was also the fact he saw strong, youthful features. Green eyes stared at him, and hair the colour of a thousand sapphires danced in the light breeze. Raistlin also could not help but notice the white, sleeveless shirt he wore, or how the blue of his pants and shoes smartly matched his hair or even the sword strapped to his back. Only one other appeared as young and beautiful before him and no other, and she was nowhere near. How was this even possible!?

Raistlin wanted to reach over to the man, to touch his shoulder, his hair, _anything_ to be sure he was not hallucinating. It would be like the wizards of his order to pull such a cruel trick on him. They knew he saw the world as dying and decaying away. They had purposely chosen to do such a heinous thing to him. To help him be sympathetic towards others, they had said, but Raistlin held very little compassion towards others. If the world was rotting away before his very eyes, what was the point of holding attachments? They were fools, anyway.

The man standing in front of him tilted his head. A light frown touched upon those youthful features, and, for a moment, Raistlin feared he was staring at an apparition, something that would evaporate in the next few moments.

"Is there something wrong?" the man asked. "You're staring at me in a funny way."

Gods above, he even sounded youthful! Raistlin thought. He mentally shook his head and decided to answer. To hell with anyone who might deem him crazy for doing so.

"No," he said. "There is nothing wrong. It's all in your head."

The man bit his lower lip, still frowning, and he took a step forward. Power radiated from the man, a power great and intense and lethal. Raistlin sensed it yet he detected no hints of maliciousness or evil from this anomaly. If anything, there was kindness and concern, much like the emotions Caramon held for him, but Raistlin cared nothing for pity or sympathy. They were wastes of time.

"Your eyes," the man murmured. "I've never seen eyes like yours before . . . they're in the shape of hourglasses . . . are you sure there's nothing wrong? I know some healing skills."

"You're wasting your time talking to him, boy," Raistlin heard Sturm say. "He is magi and he does not open up to anyone, especially those he calls friend."

"Leave him alone!" Caramon cried out. "He's been through enough, Sturm!"

Raistlin rolled his eyes and shook his head as the two started arguing. However, he could not tear his gaze away from the young man. Their eyes met, but it seemed as if this newcomer was paying attention to more than just Raistlin. After a few moments of Sturm and Caramon's bickering where Raistlin's "secret" was spouted out, the man's frown deepened, and he crossed his arms.

"Is that true?" he asked, his tone soft yet gentle. "You're only able to see the world as dying and decaying?"

"What of it?" Raistlin retorted. Anger boiled beneath the surface of his façade, and he felt confident the young man would agree with the decision of his peers. "It isn't like you aren't dying! Everything is dying. Why should that be a surprise?"

"I won't deny that everything is dying and will eventually be dead," the young man replied. "But I find it hard to believe that your vision could be altered and horribly so. It's like that's what you want to believe or something."

For that, Raistlin had no comeback. Instead, he felt as if someone had splashed him with a bucket of ice water. After a few moments of shocked silence, he found his voice.

"Believe it," he snarled, keeping his voice low and dangerous. "It was done."

"It was?" the man echoed. "Or were you tricked into believing that?"

"I am not easily deceived," Raistlin said stiffly. The man shrugged. His frown, however, never disappeared.

"Perhaps. Perhaps not," he said. "I can't say, but it seems to me that you'd be able to overcome such a thing."

"What nonsense are you babbling about?"

The young man sighed.

"What I mean is, it's simply a matter of believing. If you want to believe that all you can see is death and decay, then that's all you're going to see. If you want to see more than that, it's up to you to break that spell."

"And if my . . . sight is the will of the gods?" Raistlin shot back. "What would you say to that?"

The reaction he received from this stranger was not what Raistlin expected. He knew his words would appall his companions. He knew it even though most believed the Gods had long since abandoned the people of Krynn, and Raistlin knew they were staring at him now, wondering why he would even bring them up. The Gods would never wish harm upon them, unless it was Takhisis, the Dark Queen.

The stranger, however, was not appalled by his suggestion. If anything, his lips twisted into a bemused smile, and he folded his arms across his chest.

"Then I say to hell with what they want," he replied. "And if they don't like it, punch them in their faces to get your message across. You're not their pawn for whatever sick and twisted games they want to play."

"You sound as if such a thing was possible," Raistlin scoffed. "How would you even know? No one can reach the gods and punch them in their faces, as you so eloquently put it. The gods are in the heavens, mocking us."

"Such a thing _is_ possible," the young man said. "I'm not one for taking whatever the gods want to hand my way. I'll stand up to them, and to anyone else who wants to argue with me otherwise."

"It is not possible! It can't be," Raistlin said, his voice dropping to a whisper. Dare he hope that the young man's words were true? If he did, he would go against everything he was taught to believe as truth, and it could tear apart his world all over again.

Raistlin then snorted to himself. Since when did he care about the truths handed down from generations long since dead? He was supposed to be dead! Twins were not common. Hell, twins were believed to be two halves of a whole, and he was not whole without Caramon. Raistlin did not believe such a thing, however. He was meant to live, to become something, to turn himself into something more, something that no one else could ever hope to achieve.

"Nothing is impossible," the young man murmured. "I've learned that the hard way, but it's a lesson I won't ever take for granted. I can't. My life depends on it."

"What . . ."

Before Raistlin could ask his question, a shrill cry sounded out. The mage knew the cry, knew they were about to be attacked yet again, but he would not shirk away from a battle. If anything, now he craved the chance for combat, if only so he could show this young man the extent of his powers. Raistlin felt insanely jealous of the power teeming within the young man, and he hoped, if only faintly, to catch a glimmer of what lay beneath.

Until the battle was over, however, the fight to survive was only beginning.


End file.
